I sort of went into hibernation mode this weekend, forgoing all writing and even knitting activities to sleep. It didn't work; I still enter every day feeling like I've been buried under a flood of concrete. My ability to improvise is shot to hell, taking with it most of my skill as a teacher. At least my 9 VampXanders have lost the vamp this week, thanks to a punitive new seating plan. They're docile as lambs, kinda. Now my problem is catching up on all the ground we've lost during the mad discipline scramble of the last three weeks.

The atmosphere from on high continues to form icicles on my nose; Goneril doesn't say anything but clearly erases me from her mind as soon as I wander across her line of sight. My final evaluation is this semester, and there'll be blowback from this, yessir.

In a final cap of bad news, progress reports are due tomorrow at noon and I don't have marks for any of my classes (and no evaluated work whatsoever for my 11 Willows, although I have a lovely high pile waiting for my attention). Since the Powers That Be have done away with number reporting this round, it's not of critical importance, and I have enough of an idea of who has and who has not been working this year to turn out a reasonable set of reports. (Or rather, I'd be able to if the central web page wasn't inaccessible. Fun!) I just wish I'd had the wherewithal to mark lately, trapped as I am under that stream o' concrete.

I keep remembering my first year, when I stayed up till 2 a.m. marking and entering and writing reports. Sometimes I wish I cared as much as that scared little girl.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 10/13/2005 07:20:00 p.m.